


Together

by ibohemianam



Series: Chaconne [10]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-09 12:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibohemianam/pseuds/ibohemianam
Summary: It’s hard to hold everything together.Sometimes, though, it’s even harder to let it all go.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Given that this is the final installment in an egregiously long series, here's some strongly recommended reading:
> 
> [A Little Bit of Everything](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9274838/chapters/21018893) (A prequel, of sorts)  
> [Alternatively,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9246794/chapters/20964389) (Part One)  
> [Alternatively, Together](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9829412/chapters/22070984) (Part Two)

Bail Organa slipped into his favorite chair by the large, bay windows facing the quaint cobblestone avenue. He caught the eye of the barista and smiled. She returned it.

She reminded him of Leia.

He sighed, looking out at the cheerfully-bustling street, early morning sunlight tinging pale bunting a warm golden-brown.

“Good morning, sir,” the barista said, deftly setting his caf down before him, “You’re early today.”

Bail sniffed appreciatively at the mug, smiling his thanks.

“Yeah,” he said, taking a long sip--as always, the perfectly satisfying blend of caf and whiskey warmed his soul--and looking back away out the window, “I’m meeting an old friend, I think.”

The barista raised her dark eyebrows--another gesture that reminded him painfully of his daughter.

“Any idea what he’d like?” she asked, “It’s on the house.”

Bail smiled faintly.

“Tea,” he said drily, “He likes tea.”

The barista laughed.

“Well, I’ll see what we have in the back,” she said.

“Sapir, if you have it,” Bail said, “Strong.”

“Yes, sir,” the barista said with a small salute, “I’ll put the kettle on.”

“Thanks,” Bail said warmly. He leaned back in his chair and cradled his caf, allowing his mind to wander.

The rumble of cheerful voices in the street grew in volume as family, friends, joyous strangers streamed past the window, laughing, shouting, slowly winding their way up the meandering city streets to the gleaming white gardens at the heart of the city. Bail watched the children, all his children, with sorrowful pride. The streamers, pale and white, fluttered gaily in the warm breath of the sea.

The bell above the door jangled suddenly, startling him back to warm, familiar surroundings in time to see a slight figure clad in a simple cream-coloured tunic enter and curiously scan the room.

“Obi-Wan,” Bail said, though they were alone.

The man turned, eyebrows raised.

“Well,” he said.

Bail set his caf down on the table and rose.

“You took your time,” he said.

“For some reason,” Obi-Wan Kenobi said, “I am unsurprised to find you here.”

Bail grinned broadly, closing the distance between them in two large, sweeping strides.

“Obi-Wan, you old gundark,” he said, wrapping his friend in a fierce embrace.

Obi-Wan laughed, deep in his chest, and returned the embrace, gripping Bail’s tunic tightly, teeth gritted fiercely against the crashing tide of emotion.

Footsteps sounded on polished wood floor, and he pulled away, instinct persisting even beyond the living.

“Oh, hello,” the barista said, emerging from the rear kitchen with a steaming pot and a half-familiar smile, “You must be the friend.”

Obi-Wan surreptitiously straightened his tunic and sniffed appreciatively. His eyebrows flew up again, and he took a step back, looking to Bail.

“You didn’t,” he said.

Bail smirked.

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“This is so strange,” he said in wonder, carding a hand through his thick, auburn brush of a beard.

“Sit,” Bail said, waving him over to his table, where his caf awaited, still perfectly warm.

Obi-Wan sat across from him, watching the barista pour his tea.

“Thank you,” he said to her warmly, eyes crinkling in a smile.

She returned it, setting the kettle down on a woven mat and disappearing back into the kitchen.

Bail watched Obi-Wan inhale deeply.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had anything like this?” the Jedi asked.

“No, and I don’t care,” Bail said, smiling as Obi-Wan’s wonder withered to put-upon irritation, “It’s tea. Just drink it.”

Obi-Wan took a small sip. A small sigh escaped his lips.

Bail grinned.

After a moment, Obi-Wan returned it.

They regarded each other in quiet familiarity. The crowd in the street swelled, upward progress reduced to a crawl. An enterprising young man hung from a street lamp and belted out old Republic hymns, showering those below with an endless supply of starblossom petals, pale and blue against a vivid sky.

Obi-Wan watched this, struggling to speak around the strange constriction of his throat.

“So,” he said, forcing the words out, “You went first. I can’t say that I saw that coming.”

“Hey, it wasn’t by much,” Bail protested.

Obi-Wan smiled, a little sadly now.

“We were just a little late, weren’t we?” he said, apology heavy in his voice.

Bail shrugged, looking out the window again.

“We’ll see,” he said.

He registered Obi-Wan’s faint surprise, swiftly concealed by a contemplative gazing into the depths of freshly-brewed sapir tea.

They drank in silence for a long moment.

“What is this place?” Obi-Wan asked suddenly, setting his cup down carefully.

Bail arched an eyebrow.

“A caf shop,” he replied.

Obi-Wan's eyebrow soared for the heavens.

“I can see death hasn’t improved your sense of humor,” he said.

“What,” Bail shot back, “Did you expect it to?”

Obi-Wan choked, swallowing scalding tea.

“How we ever became friends is beyond me,” he muttered grumpily.

“I saved your life is what happened,” Bail snorted, “Typical.”

Obi-Wan grumbled under his breath.

“You’ve grown irritable in your old age,” Bail said fondly.

“Nineteen years on Tatooine will do that to a man,” Obi-Wan replied.

They quieted again, watching the unhurried rush of humanity outside.

“So,” Bail began again, and by the tone of his voice, Obi-Wan knew he would not like what would be coming next, “It was Anakin.”

Obi-Wan set his cup down a fraction more sharply than he intended.

“It was Vader,” he corrected, “Anakin’s dead. Long dead.”

“What a way to go,” Bail said, taking a long pull at his caf.

Obi-Wan glared at him.

“What?” Bail said, “We’re both dead. I can say whatever I want. It’s not like you can do anything to me.”

“You sent Leia to me,” Obi-Wan said.

“I did,” Bail replied, refusing to be thrown by the sudden shift in subject matter, “It was time.”

“Past time, if we’re both being completely honest with each other,” Obi-Wan admitted, “I should have sent for her sooner.”

Bail thought about Alderaan. Looked down into his caf.

“Probably,” he said.

He felt Obi-Wan’s gaze on him.

“The Death Star plans,” his friend said, “How did she retrieve them?”

“She didn’t,” Bail replied, smiling crookedly.

Obi-Wan sat back, arms crossed.

“Remember that man I sent to you two years ago?” Bail said, “The Force-sensitive one who--" he took another sip of caf, "--who saw Alderaan’s destruction?”

Obi-Wan winced.

“Yes,” he replied apologetically, “Andor, wasn’t he? Cassian Andor?”

Bail nodded.

“He was a member of the group of Rebels that led the strike on Scarif.”

“I find it difficult to believe that the High Council approved that particular course of action,” Obi-Wan said drily, eyebrows raised.

Bail sat back in his seat and chuckled, sunlight warm on his face. Outside in the street, a child raced by, trailing streamers of white and blue.

“They didn’t, of course,” he replied, arching an eyebrow of his own, “It was just the sort of all-or-nothing gamble they’d been so keen on avoiding.”

Obi-Wan huffed quietly, a vague crease between his brows.

“Now, why does that sound familiar?”

Bail shrugged easily, taking another long pull of his caf.

Obi-Wan gave him a shrewd look and turned back to his tea, inhaling deeply again.

“Listen,” Bail said, “Breha and I were thinking--”

Obi-Wan held up a hand, nose stubbornly entrenched in his steaming cup. Bail arched an eyebrow.

“Really?”

Obi-Wan peered at him over the brim of his cup.

“I can’t imagine there to be any particular rush to get anything done around here.”

Bail sighed.

“I was only wondering,” he said, carefully setting his caf mug down on the table, “If you’d like to join us for the celebration.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows.

“Celebration,” he repeated.

“Just because we’re dead doesn’t mean we can’t have fun,” Bail replied, that slow, familiar grin spreading across his face.

Obi-Wan grimaced.

“I don’t--” he began.

“Oh, come on,” Bail sighed, standing and tugging the Jedi to his feet, “It’ll be fun, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t got anything else planned.” He paused significantly. “Or do you?”

“Bail. I just _died,”_ Obi-Wan muttered, grumpily allowing himself to be steered out the door, “I think I’m allowed a reprieve in my social obligations to come to terms with this rather off-putting turn of events.”

Bail snorted loudly, shouldering the door open with a wave for the barista, who smiled brightly and returned the gesture.

“Don’t lie to yourself,” he said, standing and stretching out on the caf shop’s front stoop, eyes closed, savoring the sun, “This was a long time coming, and you know it.”

Obi-Wan sighed.

Bail smirked to himself, then jerked his chin off in the general direction of the streaming crowd.

“This way,” he said.

“What--” Obi-Wan began, hurrying after him, “What exactly is it that we’re celebrating?”

“What do you think?” Bail grinned.

Obi-Wan shot him a withering look.

“Do I have to repeat that _I’ve just died?”_ he said waspishly, batting an errant streamer out of his face, “I don’t even know where it is that we are.”

Bail paused for a moment, a peculiar expression flitting across his face.

“Obi-Wan,” he said, “Do yourself a favor and turn around.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth in protest.

“Just do it,” Bail said.

Obi-Wan shut his mouth and turned.

Light. Dazzling sunlight leapt from a burnished lake, far off and away down the sloping, cobblestone road that wound its way through a white city teeming with life. A warm, whispered promise sighed in the distance. Stunned, Obi-Wan turned to Bail.

“Really?” he breathed.

Bail smiled with a crooked sadness.

“Yes,” he replied, placing a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and squinting out across the dazzling lake at the minuscule, insignificant speck of a single fishing boat slowly drifting its way to shore. “You were right, Obi-Wan,” he said, the life of millions blazing in his dark eyes, “Alderaan didn’t need saving after all.”


	2. Chapter 2

Slowly, they climbed the long, winding road, everlasting sunrise warming their backs, casting out their footsteps in shadow before them.

Bail spoke readily and easily to those approached him, warm and welcoming in death as he had been in life. Obi-Wan watched with quiet numbness, trailing along at Bail’s side, chest tight, scouring the nameless faces for something, someone familiar.

He found nothing.

And yet--all these people, the young, the old, were all, in death, more precious to him than they had been in life.

He laughed to himself, relishing the strength in his old bones, the growing life in his heart. Bail glanced at him, questioning, then smiled. Obi-Wan centered himself and tentatively reached out with his soul. Suddenly, he was awash in the Force, the wild, Living Force, proudly proclaiming its sovereignty, roaring challenge to the cowering Dark. Obi-Wan laughed again, full to bursting with a familiar presence, rough-hewn and coarsely-sanded, glowing brighter, fiercer than even the living ghost of memory. He looked to Bail, unspeakable hope trembling on his lips. Bail rested a large hand on his shoulder, eyes bright.

“Wait,” he said.

Further up and further in they climbed, voiced raised occasionally in the songs of High Aldera, songs of homecoming and sweet rest. Bail sang with them, loudly, with the unrestrained eagerness of a child. Obi-Wan listened, understanding nothing and everything.

The palace of House Organa loomed before them, pale and unblemished in the soft light of the sun. Obi-Wan remembered it well--the wide, sweeping halls, the vaunted ceilings, the warm, solid doors, made sturdy by the weight of tradition, that were always unlocked, free for all to come and go. And there, beyond the palace, sprawled the gardens, thick with trees and the fresh green of new growth. Obi-Wan also remembered them well.

Just within the palace gates, Bail disappeared from his shoulder, and Obi-Wan turned, curious, to find him crouched before a little boy, who tugged him closer and whispered into his ear with tremendous gravity. Bail caught Obi-Wan’s glance and smiled before resting both hands on the little boy’s shoulders and nodding equally as gravely.

Obi-Wan watched in amusement as a young woman pushed her way back through the crowd towards them with an air of resigned exasperation, dark hair swirling behind her.

“I’m sorry, Bail,” she said in lightly-accented Basic, lunging down and scooping the boy into her arms. He made a remarkably expressive face but obediently wrapped his arms around the woman’s neck.

“Oh, no,” Bail said, standing with a grin, “We had some vital information to exchange.”

The woman sighed loudly, turning to the boy.

“Don’t run off like that,” she said to him wearily, “You might get lost, and who’ll take care of you then?”

“Uncle Bail!” the boy shouted.

“Force help me,” the young woman muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Fart!” the boy cried, large brown eyes crinkled in glee, “Fart, Ma! Fart!”

Bail held up both hands as the young woman leveled him with a glare.

“Wasn’t me,” he said, not even making an effort to suppress the grin on his face, “I’d have taught him how to swear properly.”

“You’re impossible,” the young woman snorted, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a just disdainfully enough to indicate melodrama.

“Yup,” Bail agreed.

The little boy giggled. Obi-Wan smiled.

“Where’s Breha?” the young woman asked, looking around, “Or are you meeting her in the gardens?”

“Gardens,” Bail replied, gesturing at Obi-Wan, “I was picking up a friend.”

The young woman turned.

“Oh, hello,” she said, shifting the boy to her other hip and holding out her hand, “I’m Tantim.”

Obi-Wan took her hand with a slight bow.

“Ben,” he said quietly, “Pleased to meet you.”

“You’re Jedi,” Tantim said, dropping her hand and looking up at him inquisitively.

Obi-Wan looked to Bail, startled.

“Sorry,” Tantim laughed, shaking her hair out of her face again as another warm breeze rippled through the pale bunting draped over the gates, “When you’ve been here a while, it’s easy to tell.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said, eyes fixed on Bail.

Tantim looked between the two of them uncertainly. Her son blew a raspberry into her hair.

“Okay, _okay,”_ Tantim muttered, turning away and making a face, “We’re going. You little wretch.” She turned back to Bail, clutching the squirming boy to her chest, “I’m off now to shout at my fool of a husband. See you later?”

“Of course,” Bail said, grinning, “Good luck.”

“Thanks. Good meeting you, Ben,” Tantim sighed, turning and allowing the flow of the crowd to pull her away.

Obi-Wan looked up at Bail as she disappeared, swallowed by the stream of humanity.

“Who’s she?” he asked.

“Family,” Bail replied, arching an eyebrow and stepping off the path, starting out across the grass on his own, “We nobles are all notoriously inbred, don’t you know.”

Obi-Wan sighed and followed, savoring the sweet, fresh scent of morning dew on tender grass.

“Where’s Breha?” he asked, catching up quickly, “And why are we walking on the grass?”

“Waiting,” Bail replied drily, “And this is my front lawn. I’m allowed a few liberties, I think.”

Obi-Wan glanced at him, sidelong.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Bail snorted, “Spit it out.”

He bent nearly double to avoid a low-hanging tree branch, which Obi-Wan casually pushed out of his face.

“It’s nothing,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Obi-Wan,” Bail said warningly, ducking another branch, boots crunching as they found a neatly-kept trail.

“You’ve lost weight,” Obi-Wan said.

“Force help me,” Bail muttered, turning his eyes to the heavens.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said suddenly, stopping dead in the middle of the trail, “I remember this place.”

Bail ambled to a halt, hands clasped behind his back.

“Oh?” he said, arching an aristocratic brow.

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan replied, “You cheated me in a footrace here.”

“I didn’t _cheat,”_ Bail said indignantly.

“You _stepped on my foot!_ ”

“That was your fault. You always were a little slow at the start.”

“I admit, I should have seen it coming, given that the whole thing was _your_ idea--”

“--It wasn’t _my_ idea--”

“--Well, Anakin might have brought it up, but you’re the one who agreed to it. It was just supposed to be a joke!”

Bail snorted.

“And Anakin’s jokes never backfired on you,” he said.

Obi-Wan smirked crookedly and forced the words out.

“Oh, no,” he said, “Only the ones I didn’t know about.”

Bail huffed, hands tucked deep into his trouser pockets now.

“Sounds like you want a rematch,” he said, that idiotic grin spreading slowly across his face again.

“That is _not_ what I meant, Bail, and you know it.”

“Yup,” Bail said, unclasping his cloak and tossing it carelessly off to the side, “Rematch.”

“Bail, you’re such a _child,_ ” Obi-Wan said around the mirth bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

Bail Organa sat down in the dirt and pulled off his boots. He looked up at Obi-Wan, squinting against the sun.

“So?” he asked.

“Aren’t we supposed to be at the celebration or something?”

“Eh,” Bail flapped a hand, lobbing his boots aside onto his cloak, “It can wait. Breha will understand.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t believe you.”

“We’re all dead anyways,” Bail said, hopping back to his feet, trousers cuffed at the ankle. He swung his arms in large circles, narrowly avoiding smacking Obi-Wan in the face, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Obi-Wan glared at him.

“This is a ridiculous idea,” he growled.

“Yes,” a new voice said from behind, “It is.”

Obi-Wan froze, blue eyes wide, arms locked across his chest. Bail smiled quietly at the newcomer and stepped aside.

Obi-Wan swallowed convulsively, locked in place, refusing to turn.

“But I remember,” the voice said, painfully familiar, “Not so long ago, you used to have quite a few of your own.”

Quiet bootsteps, long and slow, circled around.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, dropping his chin to his chest. He spun in darkness, flashes of red punctuated by charred disbelief.

Large, warm hands rested gently on his shoulders.

“I hate to admit it,” the voice said quietly, “But I think I might have missed them.”

Obi-Wan shivered.

“Obi-Wan,” the voice murmured, very close, closer than he ever remembered, “Obi-Wan, open your eyes.” The smell of sapir, strong and sweet. “Don’t be afraid.”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. Saw the large boots matching his, the scuffed, pilly leggings neatly tucked within, soft and cream-colored. Slowly, he lifted his gaze.

The Force thrummed, Unifying and Living together.

“My Padawan,” said Qui-Gon Jinn, “You have been so brave.”

* * *

 

* * *

“And what sort of time do you call this?” Breha Organa said peevishly, glaring at her much-beloved, if oftentimes infuriating, husband as he gambooled his way through the shrubbery.

“Perfect,” Bail said, sweeping her off the ground into his arms.

“Put me down, you--you _lump!”_

Bail laughed, deep and rich, as she slapped his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into her hair, “Got a little carried away with the welcoming party.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Breha grunted. She jabbed an elbow into his stomach and squirmed away as he staggered back, wheezing for breath.

“Oh,” he gasped, catching sight of the other woman sprawled in the grass, “Hey--” he put his hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath, “--Hey, Padme. Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Yes, it’s good to see you too, Bail,” Padme Amidala replied archly, sweeping gracefully to her feet.

Bail straightened with a wince and kissed her on both cheeks, customary grin making a reappearance.

“Obi-Wan’s going to need a good lie-down after all this,” he said cheerfully.

“Speaking of whom,” Breha said, peering into the trees somewhat accusingly, “Where is he”

“He’s--ah,” Bail said, “Catching up. He’ll--they’ll be along in a moment.”

“What,” Breha muttered, turning back to him, “Have you done to the poor man?”

“Nothing,” Bail replied blithely, pulling an oro stick from the picnic basket perched precariously on a large, pointed rock.

“Oh _Force,”_ Padme said, stilling, hands shading her eyes from the rising sun, “Is that _Master Jinn?”_

“You _child_ ,” Breha said.

Padme fidgeted.

“Just go say hi,” Bail said, dropping down into the grass, “They won’t bite.”

He watched Padme set out across the grass, watched Obi-Wan falter, watched Qui-Gon hover, protectively, before the two embraced.

“That poor man,” Breha said reprovingly.

“He’s dead. We’re dead,” Bail said, “The sooner he gets over it, the better.”

Breha sighed and watched the three make their way over.

“Qui-Gon,” she said, squinting up at the towering man with hair like wild seamoss, “It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Qui-Gon replied with a small smile and a gracious inclination of his head.

“Obi-Wan,” Breha said warmly.

Obi-Wan returned her embrace, vague disbelief still written across his face.

“Yes,” he said, “Yes, indeed.” He laughed shakily, looking from Qui-Gon to Padme to Bail. “If I’d known this was what death would be like, I’d have saved Vader the trouble.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. Obi-Wan looked up at him, a tentative, boyish delight in his eyes.

“Speaking of which,” Bail said, “Now that everybody’s here, we should get going.”

Breha stepped on his foot. Hard.

Bail clenched his jaw and shifted away from her. Qui-Gon watched him, amused.

“Really, though,” Bail muttered sourly as he lurched away, “We don’t want to miss the celebrations.”

 _“What_ celebrations?” Obi-Wan asked, losing some of the dazed disbelief in his eyes.

“You didn’t tell him,” Breha said accusingly. Bail shrugged. “The Death Star,” Breha explained, turning back to Obi-Wan, “It’s been destroyed.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said faintly. Qui-Gon rested a hand on his shoulder. “They did it.”

“Mmm,” Bail hummed, taking Breha’s hand in his. His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp, fixed on his old friend.

Padme stepped between them, smiling diplomatically.

“So,” she said, looking pointedly up at Qui-Gon, “Where to?”

“Yavin 4,” Bail said firmly,

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows.

"Really," he said.

“Yavin 4,” Padme repeated, a crooked smile on her face, “I should have known.”

“What about Yavin 4?” Obi-Wan said, looking between them in confusion.

Qui-Gon laughed, deep and rich as memory. Obi-Wan looked up at him, brow furrowed.

“Master?” he said.

“Trust,” Qui-Gon said, smiling, “Trust in the Force.”

He closed his eyes, and the ghost of Alderaan was forgotten.

* * *

 “Luke! Luke, hey Luke!”

“Skywalker, a round on us!”

“Wicked flying, mate! Old Biggs woulda been proud.”

“That’ll teach the farking Empire--”

“-- _see_ that? He’s a--”

“-- _Jedi!_ I always knew they weren’t--”

Obi-Wan staggered, narrowly remaining on his feet. He swore under his breath as a familiar hand steadied him.

“Where?” he choked, head spinning, blinded by white, “What--”

 _“--Peace,_ young one,” Qui-Gon said, lines of amusement deepening at the corners of his eyes, “Trust.”

“Luke, hey, Luke!”

“ _Skywalker!”_

Obi-Wan flinched. A dark blur--a man, wild with drink and life, rushed in his direction, cracked mug held aloft.

“What--” Obi-Wan said, surrounded by the sudden press of bodies, old and young, male and female alike, paralysed by confusion.

He held out both hands to stop the man, who advanced, regardless, eyes bright with hysterical victory--toward, then straight through him. Obi-Wan froze, eyes wide as another group of revelers plowed through him, one by one, crying and cheering in the same breath. The light flickered, steadied, dimmed. Walls sprang into place, yellow and bare, chipped and worn. The ground firmed beneath his feet, and it was solid duracrete, unyielding, constant.

“Right,” he said, staring numbly at the chipped paint through his feet, “I’m dead.”

“And what better reason to throw a party?” Bail said loudly, slapping his shoulder in passing with a mercifully material hand. Beside him, Breha sighed apologetically.

“Where are we?” Obi-Wan demanded.

“Yavin 4!” Bail called over his shoulder as he shouldered his way to the door and disappeared outside.

“Half an hour after the Death Star’s destruction,” Breha added.

“We’re ghosts,” Obi-Wan said flatly, “They can’t see us.”

“Correct,” Qui-Gon said.

“How interesting,” Obi-Wan said, raking a hand through his beard.

He turned around slowly, glimpsing Padme across the room chatting with two young women who flickered in and out of sight. Around them, among them, fading in and out of sight, shimmered young women, old men in uniform, wide-eyed children draped in blue and white, proudly gesturing toward the bar. There, hardly an arm’s length away, sat Luke Skywalker, sweat-stained flightsuit tied around his waist, incredulous joy on his face as he perched on the bar, ringed by a worshipful throng. His throat tightened.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, “This is a celebration.”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“It’s not over yet,” he murmured.

“They know that,” Qui-Gon replied mildly, “But all men must rest.”

Obi-Wan looked away, watched the shadowed corners of the room, where sickly light failed to shine. He sensed the grief, that familiar, throbbing grief, and the ruthless abandonment of drowned sorrows.

He looked up at Qui-Gon and found comfort in the recognition he saw there.

“A celebration,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face, “Tell me, Master, how does the Force celebrate?”

“Quite well, my very young padawan,” Qui-Gon replied with a terribly familiar smile that portended a night of mischief, “Quite well.”

* * *

Bail waited.

Cross-legged in an empty durasteel chair in the half-light of a half-frozen hall, he watched.

Watched him drift in and out, clouded by pain and grief.

Watched her hover in the door, dark and shuttered, a blanket in her hand, the other clutching the crystal around her neck, surprised by its warmth.

Bail stood, soundlessly making way as she crossed through him and settled her blanket over the man in the bed. She bowed her head, briefly, hand furtively smoothing aside a damp lock of hair. Bail watched her, warmed her, warmed them both.

She hesitated, indecision clear on her face.

“Stay,” Bail said, looking her in the eye.

She looked down, at the fiercely burning crystal in her hand. She looked up, at the dull, cold roof far above her head.

“Please,” Bail said, hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

Her face hardened, and she turned away, whispering footsteps trailing her to the door.

Bail sat heavily, fingering the edge of the blanket she had left behind. He pulled the chair closer to the bed and leaned back, propping both feet up on the thin mattress.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, settling back, “I'll wait.”


	3. Chapter 3

**6 ABY**

“Hey,” Cassian said, rushing into the kitchen in a breathless mess of rumpled nightclothes and unruly hair, “I can fly us in today. Briefing’s been moved up.” He tossed back his waiting mug of caf in two gulps, frowning at her. “When do you have to be down at the base?”

Jyn glanced at her wrist-chrono.

“My first class isn’t until ten,” she said, “So around half-past?”

Cassian grinned at her, setting his mug down in the sink and waving on the faucet.

“Want to head in a little early?” he asked, scrubbing without looking.

“I’m already up, aren’t I?” Jyn replied. She nudged him aside and snatched the mug out of his hand. “Go shower,” she said, biting back a grin when he dabbed a sudsy finger on her nose.  _ “Quickly,” _ she added, setting the mug upside-down on the drying rack and flicking her dripping hands in his face. 

Cassian laughed and kissed her quickly before rushing off back down the hall, singing an old nursery rhyme at the top of his lungs.

_ “Good morning, good morning! _ __  
_ Sun’s up, we’re going! _ __  
_ It’s the first day of goodly joy, _ _  
_ __ Wake up and smile, my little booooy!”

“Cassian!” Jyn shouted after him,  _ “Shower!” _

Instead, she heard the door to the bedroom at the end of the hall bang open.

“Who’s going to school today?” she heard Cassian shout, “Whose first day of school is today, hmm?”

_ “Cassian!” _ Jyn bellowed, “He can take care of himself!”

“Help!” Pres’s bright voice shrieked, “Help! Mom! Help!”

Cassian roared with laughter, and Jyn poked her head into the hall just in time to see Cassian chase Pres from his room into the hall, hands raised, fingers wriggling.

“Moooom!” Pres laughed, squirming futilely as Cassian scooped him up, tickling him mercilessly.

Jyn rolled her eyes fondly and swatted Cassian with the damp dishtowel.

“You,” she said, “Shower.”

Cassian groaned, lifting Pres onto his shoulders and dancing around the kitchen, arms spread, rumbling deep in his chest as he danced around her weapon of righteous domesticity.

“Oh,  _ Force,”  _ Jyn muttered, throwing her hands up as Cassian sprang back out of reach, laughing loudly, “You’re such a  _ child.” _

Cassian snatched Pres off his shoulders, tossing him into the air once, twice, thrice, before setting him down neatly at his place at the table, breathless with laughter.

“Eat, young man,” he commanded, pointing at the simple meal laid out before him, “That better be all gone when I’m done with my shower.”

Pres sniffed cautiously at his breakfast and made a face.

“None of that now,” Cassian said warningly, “Or I’ll have your ma make your breakfast the rest of this week.”

Jyn threw the dishtowel into his face. Pres giggled, picking up his spoon and jabbing it into the small bowl of oatmeal. Cassian spluttered and clawed the towel aside, hurling it straight back and beating a hasty retreat down the hall.

“Shower! I’m showering!” he called over his shoulder, “Give me some space, woman!”

“Five minutes!” Jyn hollered after him, “Then I’m coming after you!”

“You’re welcome any time!” Cassian shouted, thumping the door shut quickly before she could reply.

Pres giggled again. Jyn shook her head and sighed, fondly smoothing unruly curls back from his face. After a moment’s indecision, she pulled out the chair beside him, spun it around, and sat, pressing her chin to its high back. Pres scooped another mouthful of oatmeal into his mouth.

“Mom,” he said, delicately wiping his mouth with the corner of his napkin, “You’re hovering.”

“I’m your mother,” Jyn replied, lobbing the damp dishtowel into the sink across the room with a resounding slap, “It’s my job.”

Pres nibbled at his neatly-sliced toast, a tiny, definite crease appearing between his scrunched eyebrows. Jyn almost smiled.

“Auntie Shara will be there, you know,” Jyn said conversationally.

“Yeah,” Pres replied.

The back door creaked open.

“Where is Auntie Shara going to be?” came a familiar voice from the rear entryway.

Pres set down his toast, a bright grin splitting his face. Jyn smiled.

“Auntie Shara!” Pres chirped, squirming obediently in his seat as Shara poked her head into the kitchen, hair done up in a messy bun, rucksack slung over her shoulder.

“Morning, you two,” Shara said, smiling warmly at Jyn and planting a fond kiss on Pres’s cheek, “Big day today, hm?”

“Yeah,” Jyn replied, reaching out and ruffling Pres’s hair. She looked up at Shara, who perched on the edge of the table, “Just wait. It’ll be your turn before you know it.”

“Force forbid,” Shara sighed.

Jyn snorted softly, straightening slowly in her chair.

“Cassian’s debrief got moved up,” she said to Shara, “So he said he’d fly us in.”

Shara’s eyebrows shot up.

“When’d he get back last night?” she asked.

“Two-thirty,” Pres piped up, reaching out carefully for his glass of muja juice and taking a small sip. At Jyn’s look, he added innocently, “I heard him trip in the ‘fresher.”

Shara shook her head wryly. 

“Is he even awake yet?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Jyn replied, “He’s showering.”

“So that’s a no,” Shara said.

Jyn sighed again and hauled herself to her feet.

“I’ll go check on him. Make sure he hasn’t drowned.”

“Need help?” Shara called after her. Pres giggled.

“I’ll let you know,” Jyn replied over her shoulder.

To her surprise, she found Cassian tearing around their room, trousers unbuttoned, hair dripping down his bare back.

“Five minutes,” he said quickly, darting back into the ‘fresher, “Shara here yet?”

“Yeah,” Jyn replied, flopping back onto the bed and watching him shave, “What time’s your briefing?”

“Seven,” Cassian said.

“Fark, Cassian,” Jyn muttered, propping herself up on her elbows to look at him, “What’s the rush?”

“Time difference,” he replied, “Have to call in to Chandrila. New intelligence.”

Jyn stilled. Cassian tapped his razor on the edge of the sink and rinsed off, snagging his towel from the rack behind him without looking. Their eyes met in the mirror, and he smiled apologetically.

“Sorry,” he said.  _ I would. _

Jyn shrugged.  _ I know _ .

“He doing okay?” Cassian said, brushing past her again out into the room.

“I think so,” Jyn replied, “A little scared, I think. But having Shara around seems to help.”

“Who?” Cassian asked, smirking at her over his shoulder as he yanked a shirt out of his dresser, “Him or you?”

“Don’t pretend you’re not even the slightest bit overwhelmed by all--” Jyn flapped a hand around, “--this.”

“It’s just school,” Cassian replied nonchalantly--too nonchalantly, Jyn sensed, “It’s no big deal.”

“Uh huh.”

Cassian huffed a laugh at the exasperation in her voice as he stuffed his shirt into his trousers, tightening his belt and cocking his head at her.

“You doubt me, Lieutenant Erso?” 

“You’re a farking awful liar, Andor.”

Cassian shrugged on his battered field jacket, opening the bedroom in one smooth motion and gesturing her out with a expertly-executed double-bobbed Gnobulan curtsey. 

“Only when the occasion calls for it, madam,” he replied grandly.

Jyn mussed up his hair as she strode out before him, laughing at his groan of despair. 

Pres was waiting for them by the back door, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, overlong jumper sleeves folded up just past his wrists, rucksack settled neatly on his shoulder. 

“Hey,” Cassian said to Shara around a massive yawn. He grinned at Pres, who cocked his head and smiled back.

“Hey yourself,” Shara replied, snatching the speeder keys out of his hand, “I’ll fly us in. You look beat.”

“Nope,” Cassian replied, snatching them right back and yanking the back door open, “I’m running late. I’m flying.”

Shara sighed and herded Pres out the door, Jyn close behind.

Hardly had everyone taken their seats when they launched into the air. Cassian punched a number into the mobile dash-holo from memory. It beeped twice before a familiar young voice filled the cabin.

“Good morning, General. Are you on your way in?”

“We’ll be there in a half hour,” Cassian replied over the whine of the speeder’s engines, “If Leia calls, would you let her know?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Corporal.”

“Did you need anything else, sir?”

Cassian pawed at his eyes again, settling back into his seat.

“About a gallon of caf, but that’s nothing new, is it?”

“No, sir. But I think I can manage a mug or two.”

Cassian glanced at Jyn, who squinted absently out the passenger-side window at the brilliant streak of Yavin rising over the horizon.

“Great,” he said, “I think we would all appreciate it.” He prodded Jyn in the side with a finger.

“Ugh,” Jyn muttered, smacking his hand away.

“I’ll… commandeer the pot, then.”

“ _ Thank you, _ Nils,” Shara called pointedly from the backseat.

“Oh, Lieutenant Bey--”

“--I’m  _ retired, _ Nils,” Shara interrupted, “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Too many, apparently,” Cassian muttered to himself. Jyn shot him an amused look. “Thank you, Corporal,” he said crisply, raising his voice, “We’ll be there shortly.” He jabbed a finger at the console, cutting the transmission with a sharp click.

Shara sighed.

“You could be a little easier on him, Cassian,” she chided.

Cassian frowned into the rearview mirror. 

“What?” he said.

Shara and Pres exchanged a glance. Shara suppressed a smile.

“Never mind,” she replied.

“No,” Cassian pressed, “What?”

“You’re really intimidating, you know,” Shara said.

“What?” Cassian scowled, “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah,” Shara repeated, “You are.”

“How so?” Cassian demanded. He turned around and asked Pres, who sat tucked neatly into his seat, “I’m not intimidating, am I?”

Pres cocked his head and opened his mouth.

“Never mind,” Cassian said quickly. He turned to Jyn and raised his eyebrows. “Am I?” he repeated.

Jyn looked at him dead-on and said flatly, “No. Absolutely not.”

_ “Thank y-- _ ” Cassian choked off his words, squinting at Jyn suspiciously. A few beats passed. He sighed,  _ “Really?” _

“Well, obviously,  _ I _ don’t think you’re intimidating, for two obvious reasons,” Jyn retorted. Cassian looked at her expectantly. Shara sighed. 

“Well?” Cassian demanded triumphantly, “What are they?”

“One,” Jyn said, jabbing a finger at him, “Moody Arse Face. You always look like you’ve got a massive stick shoved up your--” 

Cassian cleared his throat loudly.

“--and  _ two _ ,” Jyn continued pointedly, raising her voice, “I. Have seen you naked.”

Shara choked and slapped her hands around Pres’s ears. He giggled and wriggled away.

Cassian, flushed a delicate shade of pink, screwed half an eye shut and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other clasped, white-knuckled, around the steering yoke.

“You’ve got to admit,” Jyn said, crossing her arms and settling back into her seat with an air of tremendous self-satisfaction, “You walked right into that one.”

Cassian grumbled under his breath, biting back language rather too strong for delicate ears. Instead, he stomped suddenly on the accelerator, the speeder leaping forward, massive massassi trees blurring into a sea of green beneath them. The engines whined quietly, eager to run loose. Jyn smiled to herself and glanced back into the rear seat, where Pres sat, hand pressed to the rumbling side door, savoring the vibrating thrum of power beneath his fingertips. He smiled, curls tumbling into his face. 

Cassian sensed her amusement and turned to her, question in his eyes. Jyn jerked her chin towards the backseat, and Cassian grinned at the sight of his son, half-squirmed out of his safety restraints with excitement, and Shara beside him, watching with a weather eye. Cassian waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Oh,  _ grow up,” _ Shara snapped.

Cassian laughed and, mock irritation forgotten, tightened his safety restraints.

“Cassian, I actually had breakfast this morning,” Jyn said, nevertheless tightening her own safety restraints with weary resignation.

“Don’t worry,” Cassian replied, turning his grin upon her, the full force of his simple joy striking her deep in her chest, “We’ll take it easy. Right, Pres?” he called into the backseat.

“Right!” Pres crowed. 

“You’re the pilot!” Cassian shouted, toggling the speeder to manual shifters and sitting back in his seat. The engines roared.

“I’m the pilot!” Pres cried, laughing. He closed his eyes, and the speeder hummed around them. “I’m the pilot!”

Yavin broke free of the horizon, setting the forest below aflame as they knifed through the new dying dawn. Faster and faster they flew until it felt as if they had flown through time itself, the world frozen around them. 

“I’m the pilot!” Pres yelled.

The speeder thrummed and sang, skimming the treetops, guided, powered by an invisible hand.

Cassian laughed fiercely, hand resting lightly on the controls. He reached out across the central console and lightly brushed Jyn’s hand with his own. She smiled crookedly, resting her fingers between his as, distantly, then suddenly, the ancient ziggurats loomed into view.

Abruptly, the engines cut out, and silence became immediate.

“I’m not the pilot,” Pres said, looking out the window as if he could see the long shadows cast by the remnants of tradition lost to legend, “You’re the pilot.”

“I’m the pilot,” Cassian confirmed, reached up and yanking on the lever that deployed the manual flaps.

They whispered through the crisp morning, circling the main ziggurat slowly, long grass rippling below in a distant breath. Jyn glanced at Cassian, who piloted them with quiet skill, eyes fixed on some intermediate distance between here and there, memory tightening the corners of his eyes, deepening the crease between his brow. She rested her hand over his, sensing and understanding at once the gratitude in the flicker of his gaze.

Gliding on invisible currents, they circled the ziggurat one last time before Cassian slipped his hand out from under hers to engage the antigrav landing mechanism, easing them to a smooth stop just outside the hangar.

“Nice flying,” Shara said into the silence.

Cassian shrugged.

“I had a good teacher,” he replied, flicking the engines on again to bring them slowly into the hangar itself.

They had arrived just before the dawn watch was due for relief, so they found the hangar nearly devoid of personnel as they piled out of the speeder, Cassian out first and hoisting Pres down onto his hip, small rucksack slung across his shoulder. He bent to set Pres down, but the boy clung to his jacket, small hands fisted deep in familiar presence.

“What’s wrong, hm?” Cassian murmured into his ear, nudging him with a stubbled cheek. Jyn dropped down from the speeder and ran her hand through Pres’s hair.

“Nothing,” Pres replied tearfully, face buried in Cassian’s neck.

Cassian looked up at Jyn, who smiled crookedly again.

“Hey,” Cassian said, crouching so he and Pres were eye-to-eye, “Hey.” He gently tapped his thumb under Pres’s chin. Pres leaned back against Jyn, who ruffled his hair with a soft huff. He sniffed quietly. “We’ll be right here,” Cassian said gently, “Right here on base. We’re not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Pres whispered, hands twisting the hem of his shirt. 

“You get to spend the whole day with Auntie Shara,” Cassian continued, gently taking the worrying, clammy hands in his and placing them back at Pres’s side, “She’s a much cooler teacher than your boring old ma and pap, you know. And you get to meet all the other kids on base.”

Pres’s bottom lip trembled, and he bit down stubbornly.

“What you’re doing is very brave, Pres,” Jyn said, dropping into a crouch beside Cassian, “We’re so proud of you.”

“I’m scared,” Pres blurted.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Cassian replied. He smiled. “It means you aren’t crazy.”

Pres hiccuped a laugh. 

“There we go,” Cassian said warmly, brushing away the tears, “There’s my favorite smile.”

Pres swallowed, gathering himself. He straightened his shoulders with tentative courage, looking up at Cassian through a shuddering breath.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” Cassian replied, handing him his rucksack. Jyn helped him shrug it on, straightening his shirt and making another vain attempt to smooth his curls aside.

“Ready to go?” Shara asked, emerging from behind the speeder with the timing born of motherly instinct. 

“Yeah,” Pres said firmly, reaching out to take her hand. He looked to Jyn and Cassian, lip trembling again.

“We’ll see you this afternoon,” Jyn said reassuringly. She straightened, placing her hand on Cassian’s shoulder. “And then you can tell us all about your first day.”

Pres pressed his lips together and nodded. He turned, allowing Shara to lead him away. 

Jyn waited until they were safely away in the ‘lift before looking down at Cassian, who remained crouched on the scorched duracrete.

“Alright there, Moody Arse Face?” she asked, only half-teasing.

Cassian blinked up at her.

“Yeah,” he replied mistily. He creaked back to his feet, glancing back at the closed ‘lift doors. “You?”

“I feel like I’ve sent my firstborn off to slaughter,” Jyn said flatly.

Cassian choked, nearly dropping his speeder keys.

“Well,  _ thanks,” _ he snorted.

He fidgeted with the keys, finally shoving them into his trouser pockets with disproportionate violence.

“He’ll be fine,” Jyn said, nudging him with a shoulder.

“I know,” Cassian sighed. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t you have a briefing you’re late for?” she said pointedly.

Cassian glanced at his wrist-chrono and grimaced.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “You heading to the salle now, or you want to come up to my office?”

“Your office?” Jyn echoed, raising her eyebrows comically, “Oh, imagine the  _ rumors _ .”

Cassian sighed, scrubbing a hand across his jaw.

“I only offered because there should be a pot of caf for you up there.”

“You really got my hopes up there for a moment.”

“Now that you mention it,” Cassian muttered, striding away to the ‘lifts,  “I’ll have Olathryn bring it down to you.”

“He’s your attache, not your  _ slave _ ,” Jyn retorted, hurrying after him, “I can get my own pot of caf.”

_ “Jyn,” _ Cassian hissed, pained. He stabbed the call button and clasped his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth not unlike a certain reprogrammed Imperial droid.

“You can’t possibly think there’s a single person on base who doesn’t know about us,” Jyn said, peering up at him, “You can’t  _ possibly.”  _ Cassian glared at her. “I mean, Mon Mothma practically walked in on us--”

The ‘lift pinged, signally an approaching pod.

“--and if she didn’t have a problem with it, why would anyone else?”

Cassian ignored her, twitching uncomfortably. 

The ‘lift doors opened.

Jyn reached out and grabbed his hand, yanking him down and locking their lips together. Cassian gurgled in surprise, then pain as their teeth clicked together, eyes widening further still when he looked up over her shoulder to find that the ‘liftpod was not, in fact, unoccupied. He staggered back, smoothing a flustered hand through his hair.

“Corporal Olathryn,” he said, somewhat breathlessly. Beside him, Jyn smirked.

“Ah--” Olathryn said, even more flustered, “Sir.” His wide eyes darted to Jyn. “Ma’am. Uh. Erm. Good morning. I saw your speeder come in and thought I should, um, bring these down.” He held out two steaming mugs of caf.

“Oh, thanks,” Jyn said, snatching both mugs out of his hand. 

_ “Jyn,” _ Cassian sighed.

“I’ll need both of them,” Jyn said, slurping loudly. She looked him in the eye and forced him to look away first.

Cassian sighed again. Nils Olathryn stared between them, blushing furiously.

The ‘lift dinged again, and the doors began to close. Cassian stuck out a foot, smacking them apart. All three of them watched as the doors parted again.

“Well,” Jyn said, “that’s fascinating. But I think I might have something else I should be doing. Unlike other people.” Cassian glared, stepping into the lift. “See you tonight, dear.” 

Cassian punched the door-close button. 

“Hey Olathryn,” Jyn called as the ‘lift doors began wheezing shut, “I wouldn’t be intimidated by him.” Cassian braced his forehead in his hand, steeling himself. “I should know.” Jyn grinned broadly. “I’ve seen him naked.”

The ‘lift doors sealed shut with a quiet sigh.

Silence, then a low, quiet hum as the propulsion mechanism engaged.

Cassian sucked in a sharp breath, staring at the floor, ears burning.

“Fark,” he muttered.

A beat. 

“Indeed,” Corporal Olathryn agreed.

Cassian choked.

The ‘lift lurched to a stop. The doors dinged cheerfully open.

Corporal Olathryn turned to him.

“After you, sir,” he said blandly.

Cassian shook his head as he exited.

“I’m going to need something stronger than caf,” he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's notes [here](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/163926872396/together-chapter-3).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three threads, now unwound.

**FULCRUM - 0.01**

The doorchime sounded, and Cassian paused, hand falling instinctively to his blaster as he turned to Kaytoo.

The droid stood sniffily and scanned the door.

“One human,” he said after a brief interval, “Male.”

Cassian set his packed rucksack down by the foot of his bed.

“ _I’ll_ open it,” Kay said irritably, stepping in front of him, sprawlingly spiderlike.

“Kay, wait--” Cassian began, flicking aside the safety loop on his holster and lunging after him.

Kaytoo jabbed a durasteel finger into the controls. The door slid aside.

“Well,” Kaytoo sniffed, disdain coating his freshly-serviced vocabulator, “Took you long enough. We were about to leave.” He turned to Cassian. “I’ll meet you at the ‘ship,” he said.

Without any further explanation, he ducked his head to clear the low doorway and strode out into the hall, revealing the man waiting in the hall.

Cassian, hand still frozen on his blaster, blinked. His lips parted, dry and cracked, but no sound emerged.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Bail Organa said blandly, eyebrow raised, “I must have the wrong room.” He gestured over his shoulder with a tremendous rustle of fabric, “I’ll just--”

Cassian reached out and gripped his shoulder tightly.

“What the _fark_ are you doing here?” Cassian hissed around the fierce grin that stole its way across his face.

Bail smiled at him.

“You forgot your coat,” he said, holding up an armful of fur and blue synthleather, “And I heard you were headed to Jedha.”

Cassian pulled a face, made as if to shut the door but was stopped short by a faceful of coat and the sound of Bail’s deep, rich laughter.

“You old farking gundark,” Cassian muttered, clawing the coat from his face and reluctantly tucking it under his arm, “I saw you at the briefing, _lurking_ in the shadows.”

“I was trying to be discreet,” Bail replied with a shrug, hands stuffed deep into his trouser pockets.

Cassian shook his head, glancing down at his scuffed boots.

“What are you doing on Yavin 4?” he asked, looking back up at Bail, “It has to be something big to get you off Alderaan.”

“Yes, and it’s definitely something we can discuss out in the hall,” Bail snorted, “Where are those manners I tried so hard to drum into your head? You forget them out on Kafrene?”

Cassian huffed and turned away, gesturing him in. He punched the door controls shut and turned, leaning against the wall with his arms across his chest. Bail propped himself up against Cassian’s desk, long legs stretched out before him, cloak draped neatly over an arm.

“Well?” Cassian demanded.

Bail raised a single, solitary eyebrow.

“Bail,” Cassian sighed, wearily rubbing the back of his neck with a grimy hand, “We’re due for takeoff in less than fifteen minutes.”

Bail looked down at his boots. He frowned.

“We can talk about it when you get back,” he said.

“Bail--”

“--Jyn Erso,” Bail said suddenly, eyes dark, penetrating, “Do you believe her?”

Cassian stared a moment, then barked a laugh, short, sharp, and bitter.

“Does it matter?” he scoffed, running a hand through his hair, “She’s the best lead we’ve had on Galen Erso in years.”

“Cassian,” Bail pressed, _“Do you believe her?”_

Cassian dropped his hand back to his side. He felt the wall at his back, warm and solid. Familiar. Bail watched him with a rare, wary guardedness, broad shoulders deliberately relaxed, hidden tension thrumming through the arms folded across his chest.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Cassian demanded.

Bail said nothing.

 _“Bail,”_ Cassian snapped.

Bail looked him in the eye. Like a death knell, the words fell.

“The Council of Elders held a vote yesterday morning,” he said.

Cassian stiffened, arms tightening across his chest. Bail met his gaze evenly.

“They’ve given me permission to recall _Another Chance,”_ he said.

Cassian floundered.

“Fark,” he breathed.

“I’m here to talk things through with Mon,” Bail continued, wearily tossing his cloak back over his shoulder, “But as of yesterday morning,” he said heavily, “Alderaan stands ready for war.”

* * *

**FULCRUM - 0.5**

“It makes the most sense to send me, and you know it,” Cassian said tightly, “So don’t start.”

Bail narrowly refrained from slamming the door behind him, shutting it instead with a sharp click of the latch. He watched Cassian tug his rucksack--already packed--out of the closet and yank it open with restrained frustration.

“That’s not my objection,” Bail replied, “As much as I might not like the idea of sending you back to the Outer Rim, I _know_ there’s no one else better for the job.”

Cassian shot him a sidelong glance, crossing the room in two quick strides.

“Then what?” he demanded, keying open the biometrically-locked safe bolted to the floor beneath his desk.

Bail crossed his arms. Shifted. Stood. Watched Cassian pull his spare blaster from the safe, check the charge and safety, and toss it neatly across the room into his rucksack.

 _“Bail,”_ Cassian pressed, straightening and toeing the safe door shut again.

“I don’t like the idea of you heading back there out there alone,” Bail admitted after a period of silence.

Cassian snorted, hard and brittle. He stalked back to his closet, slipping out of his field jacket as he went and hanging it up beside the old blue coat Bail had given him nearly a year--a lifetime--ago.

“How do you think _I_ feel?” Cassian retorted. He frowned at the collection of coats and jackets arrayed before him.

“ _I’m_ not the one you should be concerned about,” Bail snapped, “I’ll be fine without you here. We all will be.”

Cassian took a deliberate breath and, reaching into his closet, pulled out a dark leather jacket, staring at it with an unreadable expression.

Bail sighed.

“Have you told Leia yet?” he asked.

Cassian blinked and turned to him, startled.

“No,” he muttered, pulling the jacket on and spinning around again to retrieve his rucksack from the bed.

“You’re sure, then,” Bail said. He leaned back against the door, vaguely defeated.

Cassian turned to look at him full-on, rucksack slung over his shoulder, jaw set.

“Galen Erso’s at the heart of this,” he insisted, “He had ties with Saw Gererra--they were friends--we know this. My contact’s our best shot at finding Saw. We find him--” he shrugged with expertly-feigned easiness, “--we find Erso. or at least what happened to him.”

Their eyes met.

“Planet-killer, huh?” Bail said, strained.

Cassian looked away.

“We don’t know for sure yet,” he replied.

“Right.”

Cassian fidgeted, weary wariness settling again into the tired lines of his shoulders. Bail stepped forward and clapped a large hand against his back.

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll walk you down to the hangar.”

Cassian leaned into the touch, lengthening his stride to keep up even as Bail slowed his pace, keeping them abreast, shoulder-to-shoulder out in the dark hall.

Despite the hour, Breha was sitting up at the dining table, datapads and holoreaders strewn about before her. She squinted up at them as they descended the stairs, and confusion melted quickly from concern to fear to resignation when she saw the looks on their faces.

“Where?” she demanded, standing and pushing her chair back.

“Outer Rim,” Cassian replied, throat tight, “I can’t say where, sorry.”

Breha sighed almost silently, a pained exhale.

“How long?” she asked.

“A week, maybe,” Cassian said with another feigned, heavy shrug, “Most of it will be spent getting there and back.”

Breha smiled crookedly at that, reaching out and pulling him into a warm embrace.

“That’s right,” she said, pulling away, “We’ll be waiting, so don’t take too much time off. Without you around, Garm and Leia might spare us all the difficulties of uniting a rebellion by tearing each others’ throats out.”

Cassian forced a laugh, stepping back reluctantly.

“I’ll do my best,” he promised.

Breha cupped his face with one small, strong hand.

“I know you will,” she replied with a full, genuine smile that managed, somehow to hold all the galaxy’s seas of sadness, “You always do.”

She kissed him gently on the cheek and gave him a small push for the door.

“Hurry home,” she said.

Cassian ducked his head and turned away. Bail’s arm around his shoulders steered him to the ‘lift, and they stood in silence as the floors hummed away.

The hangar, too, was silent when they stepped out into its murky half-lit maw of empty space.

“I’ll just be taking the landspeeder,” Cassian said quietly, indicating the ‘ship closest to the ‘lift.

“Right,” Bail said, “Inconspicuous. Smart.”

They stared at each other again.

“I’ll be back, you know,” Cassian said, looking away off to the side at the arching walls.

“Of course,” Bail replied, “This is your home now.”

Cassian turned back to him, smiling faintly.

“Yeah,” he said.

Silence returned. Cassian choked back some nameless emotion welling in his chest. He shifted his rucksack on his shoulder.

“I should go,” he said.

“Yeah,” Bail said, “I’ll let Leia know when you’re safely out of comm range.”

Cassian snorted, dry and parched, “Thanks.”

Bail hugged him tightly, then stepped back, hands stuffed into his pockets.

Cassian tossed his rucksack into the passenger seat and clambered into the cockpit. The engine thrummed to life beneath him, and he settled back into his seat, face blank, emotionless.

Bail watched him disappear out again into the night, straining to make out the ghost of engine lights long after they had faded into darkness.

Emptiness flickered, remained.

* * *

**FULCRUM - 0.60**

“You know,” Leia said seriously, “I think my father wants us to get married.”

Cassian flinched violently, jerking their speeder into oncoming traffic and blaring horns before he recovered enough to yank them back into their designated hyperlane.

Leia managed to keep a straight face for approximately half a breath before she burst out laughing. The undisguised expression of horror on Cassian’s face immediately drained away, replaced in increments by a ferocious glower that intensified with each passing gasp of laughter issued from the passenger seat.

“That,” he snarled, “Was not funny.”

“Your _face,”_ Leia hooted.

Cassian clenched his jaw shut, hands white-knuckled on the steering yoke as they sped through an unseasonably heavy rainstorm.

“Oh, come on, Cassian,” Leia snorted, yanking the pins out of her hair with a broad, crooked grin splitting her face, “Lighten up a little.”

“I don’t think I have that luxury,” Cassian snapped.

Leia shook her hair loose in a deep, rich cascade of golden-brown, gleaming under the struggling light of distant stars.

“On a more serious note,” Leia said after a long period of silence, “I _will_ be nineteen soon, and marriage is all those crusty old men--in both senates--are going to be talking about.”

Cassian shot her a sidelong glance.

“Not on Alderaan,” he replied.

“You underestimate the senility of the Council of Elders,” Leia muttered, shrugging out of her white senatorial cloak with a grimace and flinging it into the rear seat, “You should have heard them go on about my decision to name you as my Founding Day escort.”

“That _was_ your decision, you know.”

Leia crossed her arms tightly across her chest and drew her feet up under her, nearly swallowed by the seat. Cassian eyed her warily.

“I’m sure your mother and father wouldn’t force you into anything you didn’t want,” he said cautiously.

“But it shouldn’t matter what I want is the thing,” Leia replied, staring away out the viewport, “I am the Princess of Alderaan, and it’s my duty to do what’s best for my people.”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Cassian said drily, “But I don’t see how an unhappy marriage could possibly benefit anyone.”

“It’s tradition, you know,” Leia said, glancing over at him, “And Alderaan is built on tradition. Thankfully,” she huffed, “Most of them aren’t too bad--we don’t, I don’t know, sacrifice our firstborn children or anything.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know how my mother and father did it,” Leia continued, “An arranged marriage? In the aftermath of the ascendancy contention?”

“They’re strange people, your mother and father.”

“I’ll tell them you said that,” Leia replied, continuing without the slightest hint of hesitation, “It’s not that I don’t want to marry anyone--I mean, that would be nice, I suppose--but I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who I’d live with the rest of my life without going insane.”

“Why, thank you.”

“You talk in your sleep and you have, on multiple occasions, almost shot every single member of the current reigning monarchy of Alderaan with the farking blaster you keep under your farking pillow.”

“But I cook better than every single member of the current reigning monarchy of Alderaan.”

“Shut up.”

Cassian smiled to himself.

Beneath them, above them, around them, Imperial Coruscant bustled, undeterred by the dutifully flickering dash-chrono, which read two minutes past midnight. The speeder thrummed reassuringly around them as they peeled off the main hyperlane for the Imperial apartments reserved for senators and their staff. They settled into the rear of the short queue of speeders leading to the first of several security checkpoints, and Cassian let the engine idle, scrubbing a hand wearily across his face. He felt Leia’s eyes on him.

“Long day,” she said.

“Subjective evaluation,” he replied tightly.

Leia laughed again.

“You’re farking ridiculous,” she said.

Cassian’s lips quirked in a faint smile, which faded quickly as they drew level with the hovering security kiosk. Wordlessly, he handed their scandocs over to the waiting security droid, which took them and immediately ran an unsanctioned bioscan of the two of them. Leia ignored them both, staring regally out the forward windscreen. The security droid--an older KX model--whirred contemplatively.

Cassian snatched their scandocs out of the droid’s hand with thinly-disguised venom, slamming down the accelerator the instant the tractor beam disengaged. They streaked silently into the restricted zone.

“I need to take care of some things first,” Leia said after a strained moment, “Could you start the ‘call to Alderaan?”

Cassian shot her a look.

“Cassian, for fark’s sake, _relax,”_ Leia snapped.

Cassian turned away, back to the sprawling luxury apartments of the Imperial upper crust expanding before them.

“He’ll be glad to hear from you,” Leia continued, more gently, “They both will.”

Cassian pulled them into a tight, downward spiral.

“I know,” he lied

* * *

**FULCRUM - 0.65**

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, but it’s not like you can just go barging into the Palpatine’s office demanding answers for something like this!”

“I _know_ that!”

“Then _sit down!”_

_“Fark!”_

“Cassian. _Sit. Down._ I _will_ call for the Royal Guard.”

“I _am_ the Royal Guard, Bail. It’s my _responsibility_ to protect--”

_“Cassian!”_

“Ah, _fark,_ Bail.”

“This wasn’t your fault.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

“Hey, look. _Look._ I’m fine. Breha’s fine. Leia’s fine. Even my speeder is fine. You know who’s not so fine right now? You. Here. Drink my highly-nutritious sedative before I’m forced to smother you with a pillow.”

“I think you’d be lucky to make it to your feet without falling over.”

“I’m old, Cassian. I hit my head. I’ve hardly more than half a foot in the grave.”

_“Bail.”_

“Sorry.”

“Fark. Don’t _apologize.”_

“You see what I’m getting at?”

“Bail, it’s not the same thing.”

“I think it is.”

“No--”

“Shut up. You’re giving me a headache.”

“Bail--”

“I said, shut up. Or go away. I’d prefer it if you stayed, but if you’re going to keep going on like this, I’d rather not wallow through the rest of your tremendous guilt complex.”

“You senile, decrepit man.”

“Ah, now that’s more like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's notes [here](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/164195158346/together-chapter-4).

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking some of you might be a bit confused.
> 
> Link to notes [here](https://ibohe.tumblr.com/post/163652236761/together-chapter-one).


End file.
